Los Angeles daily herald., 1887-10-18
THE CHILDS' FOUNTAIN.
Dedication Verses By oliver Wen-
dell Holmes.

Dedication Verses ny oliver Wen-
dell Holmes.
The following poem by Oliver Wen
dell Holmes was read at the services
held yesterday at Stratford-on-Avon,
England, on the occasion of the dedi-
cation of the Shakesperean fountain
presented by George w. Childs, of
Philadelphia. Particulars of the
ceremonies can be obtained by refer
ence to the telegraphic columns:
Welcome, thrice, welcome is thy silvery
Thou long imprisoned stream!
Welcome the tinkle of thy crystal beads
AS splashing raindrops to the fiowery meads,
AS summers breath to Avon's whispering
reeds!
From rock-walled channels, drowned in ray
Leap forth to life and light;
Wake from the darkness OF thy troubled
And greet with answering smile the morn
ing's beam!
No .purer lymph the white-limbed Naiad
Than from thy chalce flows;
Not the bright spring OF Aries sunny shores,
Starry with spangles washed from golden
Nor CLASSY stream Blandusia's fountain
pours,
Braids her loose flowing hair,
Nor the swift current, stainless as it rose
Where chill Arveiron steals from Alpine
SHOWS
Here shall the traveller stay his weary feet
To seek thy calm retreat;
Here at high noon the brown-armed reaper
Here, when the shadows, lengthening from
the west,
Call the mute song-bird to his leafy nest,
Matron and maid shall chat the cares away
That broodod DER the day,
While flocking round them troops OF cnii-
And ali the arches ring with laughter sweet
Here shall the steed, his patient life who
spends
In toll that never ends,
Hot from his thirsty tramp DER hill and
Plunge his red nostrils while the torturins
rein
Drops in loose loops beside his floating
name;
Nor the poor brute that shares his masters
lot
Find his small needs forgot
Truest of humble, long-enduring friends,
Whose presence cheers. whose guardian care
defends!
Here lark, and thrush and nightingale shall
And skimming swallows dip,
And strange shy wanderers fold their lus-
trous plumes,
Fragrant from bowers that lent their sweet
perfumes 49,
Where Pestums rose or Persias lilac
Here from his cloud the eagle stoop to
drink
At the full basins brink,
And whet his beak against its rounded lip,
His glossy feathers glistening as they drip.
Here shall the dreaming poet linger long,
Far from his listening throng-
Nor lutte nor Tyre his trembling hand shall
Here no frail Muse shall imp her crippled
No faltering minstrel strain his throat to
These hallowed echoes who shall dare to
Whose tuneless voice wonld shame,
Whose jangling chords with jarring notes
The nymphs that heard the Swan of Avon's
song?
What visions greet the pilgrims raptured
What ghosts made real rise!
The dead return,-they breathe,-they live
Joined by the hosts of Fancys airy train,
Fresh from the springs of Shakespeare's
Quickening brain!
The stream that slakes the souls diviner
thirst
Here found the sunbeams first
Rich with his fame, not less shall memory
The gracious gift that humber wants sup
plies.
DER the wide waters reached the hand that
gave
To all this bOunt eOus wave,
With health and strength and joyous beauty
fraught;
3lest be the generous pledge of friendship,
brought
From the far home of brothers love,
unbought!
Long may fair Avon's fountain flow, enrolled
With storied shrineG of old,
Castalia's spring, Egeria's dewy cave
And Horeb's rock the God of Israel clave.
Land of our Fathers, ocean makes us two,
But heart to heart Is true!
Proud in your towering daughter IN the
West,
Yet in her burning life-blood reign contest
Her mothers pulses beating IN her breast.
This holy fount, whose rills from heaven
descend,
Its gracious drops shall lend
Both foreheads bathed in that baptismal
dew,
And love make one the old home and the
new!
August Goth, 1887.